137 Shingle Hill Street
by lost0and0found
Summary: He would come back for her, he promised. A story of what happens when he does. Jazz Age Lit. AU.


Disclaimer: _I own nothing, otherwise this would be happening widescreen._

_A/N: To you, dear Ara :) With special thanks to NotThereNeverAround for her help in editing this :)_

* * *

**_PROLOGUE_  
**

**NEAR 137 SHINGLE HILL STR., West Haven,there is a small unpaved road that leads off the main street, and then curves up towards the hill. People of West Haven never call this road anything different than _Shingle_. It ends blindly with a Georgian looking building set almost on top of the hill, so that it overlooks the town. The building is called _Ashton_ and it's an orphanage.**

* * *

**1920, West Haven, Connecticut**

PEOPLE OF WEST HAVEN thought of themselves to be highly virtuous. They went to work every week day and to church every Sunday, they obeyed the law and respected all town rules. They cared about charity by means of donations and, of course, the annually held Spring festival, where all _Ashton_ scholars were also welcome. Anyway, it was always awkward, when those kids came down from the hill. It was just that they didn't _belong_.

Missis Connolly, whose husband ran the only shop in town, once thought about the reason why people of West Haven didn't feel comfortable about _Ashton_. 'It's not that we don't like the kids. We _love_ kids. And those poor creatures are no exception but... I think the building is to blame. Yes, definitely such a building doesn't belong here in _Haven_, with our mowed green lawns and white picket fences... A building like _Ashton_ just doesn't belong here and this is the simple truth.'

So, the road to _Ashton_ had adopted the name of the main street it started from and just as the place where it led, somehow it didn't belong.

* * *

**I**_**  
**_

_**1927, West Haven, Connecticut**_

SUN WAS HIGH above _Jones Hill Road_ gas station.

Dean Forester wiped his hands in the cloth that hung from a long rusty nail down the side of the wooden door and lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the blazing sun as he watched the car pull into the gas station.

A new car in _West Haven_. That didn't happen every day. In fact, it happened so rarely that it almost didn't happen at all. Another rich moron on his way to the Big Apple, looking for success, business, popularity, whatever. They were all looking for something and ended up with nothing.

_Haven_ was four kilometers down the road, but such cars didn't belong in a place like _Haven_. Guy was surely passing by.

'Lost your way?' Dean asked as the stranger stepped out of the car. He was a young man in light beige suit and black shades. _Gangster shades_, Dean shook his head mentally. _Neat_.

He wiped his forehead with an oiled sleeve as he waited for the newcomer to approach.

'Been awhile, Dean,' the man said, taking the shades off.

Dean's jaw felt stiff, punched with memories seven years old.

'Jess?'

* * *

**_~Seven Years Ago~_**

AT THE BEGINNING OF 1920, Europe was an explosive barrel, still smoking with the ashes of millions of souls. The States had saved the day, entering the war under the lead of Progressive ideology. Life went on, a new age coming, and people woke up to life.

In _Ashton_ _Orphanage_, West Haven, however, time had stopped.

One cold February afternoon in 1920, Missis Daughtry (who would be _Ashton_'s director at the time) announced that a new boy would be joining their company. The boy was the son of an Italian soldier and was born under the name of Jess Mariano.

Many kids joined the orphanage during those first months after the war. And this one was just another kid like these. That's what Rory thought when she heard Missis Daughtry's announcement.

Rory was one of those kids who had no other memories than the ones they had acquired in _Ashton_. She was brought here the moment she was born, she had been told. Sometimes she even thought she was born _here_, in _Ashton_'s big wooden foyer, appearing out of thin air.

Rory wasn't stupid, though. She knew, of course, children didn't appear out of _thin air_. In fact, Rory was the smartest girl in _Ashton_. She was sixteen and by now she had reread all of _Ashton_'s library. She waited for each year's Spring Festival to go down into _Haven_ and get some books. Well, there were all these donations people from _West Haven_ made, all those charity baskets and all, but why were there never any _books_ in those baskets, Rory wondered. Why would people never assume that a child from _Ashton_ would be more concerned about reading than about putting on a new pair of mittens?

Rory was one of those kids who had no second name. Irony was, she thought, when children without families got family names. She had neither. And she found nothing disturbing in that. After the war, many children with family names started to come. And, strangely, they had family names and no families left. Rory found this sad. This Jess Mariano was one of those kids.

However, when Rory first saw Jess Mariano, she didn't find him sad. She found him _interesting_. When he entered _Ashton_'s Common room for the first time, he put his stuff down, took a book out of his back pocket and sat over his old worn-out suitcase. And started to read. And to him, the rest of the world disappeared. Rory watched mesmerized.

'Dean?'

'Yeah.'

'Who's this?'

'New kid. Jess something. Why?'

'Just asking.'

And that's how Rory and Jess met for the first time.

# # #

Dean was always trying to make friends with Jess. No, not _friends_. He wanted to '_mingle_', be '_buddy-buddy_'. And there were two reasons for that.

The first one was, because Jess Mariano was _intimidating_. Kids in _Ashton_ feared him. The few people in town who had met him feared him. Dean suspected even some of the teachers feared him.

There was something... _reckless_ about that boy, you never knew what to expect from him. Truth be told, he couldn't care less what was expected. He didn't do what he was told. As if someone could _tell_ him what to do, anyway. And it was always better to be on good terms with those guys, as Dean's father said. _'Because you wouldn't dare stand in their way it's much safer to follow them on theirs, my boy'._ And Dean Forester was one to always be on the safe side.

The second reason why Dean was trying to snake his way closer, was, of course, _her_. Jess was close to _her_. So, Dean was trying to get closer to Jess.

The only exciting thing in Dean Forester's life was trying to be closer to Rory. He had laid his eyes on her the moment he entered _Ashton_, three years ago. She would always keep her distance, of course, she did so with everyone, including Dean. Until that Jess kid appeared. Their connection was weird, almost mystical. Sometimes creepy. Rory and Jess. Jess and Rory. Saying the name of one of them without adding the name of the other sounded wrong and somehow _unfinished_.

In a strange way, Dean liked them. They were all those things he never dared to be. They were like the books they read - interesting, full of imagination, _special_.

Dean Forester had never been special. He was one of those kids who were always considered _un_interesting. Like his good-for-nothing father, Dean feared one day he would turn out owing a whole lot of money, gambling them away and ending up in jail. Or worse, just like his father, he would be _no one_. How can you be someone if your father is no one, Dean wondered.

And it was the excitement he got out of his vague relation to Rory (and, consequently, Jess) that distracted him from the memories of the years before _Ashton_. Because they had magic in their lives. Magic that Dean's life, as far as he knew, didn't have.

'We need to talk.'

'Piss off.'

'Jess, this you'll wanna hear.'

'Wanna bet?' Jess asked dismissively without tearing his eyes away from his book.

'Jess, a family's coming. Tomorrow morning. They're looking to foster a teenage girl.'

Jess' eyes froze on the page.

'Word goes they're set on Rory,' Dean added with a hinge of apprehension.

Jess kept silent for a while, thoughts racing.

He didn't ask Dean if he was sure. Dean was _always_ sure. He had been in the rumor mill ever since he entered _Ashton_, 'keeping himself informed' over a cup of tea with the teachers. Teachers, especially _female_ teachers, liked Dean. He knew how to make an appearance and how to make a compliment. And that, in _Ashton_, was highly appreciated.

* * *

_**1927, West Haven, Connecticut**_

'She doesn't live here anymore, Jess.' Dean repeated sadly, knowingly.

He had been half expecting Jess to come back for her one day. After all, he had said he would, didn't he?

'Her grandparents showed up and took her. That was almost seven years ago.'

Jess' features didn't express neither surprise, nor disappointment. But Dean suspected they were there somewhere.

Of course, Jess couldn't have expected her to wait for him ceaselessly, rooted to the spot. Seven years. Quite some time. Many things could've happened for seven years. Many things did.

Dean let out a sigh and left the dirty cloth on top of a barrel.

'They just showed up in _Ashton_ on her eighteenth birthday and presented some papers, claiming she's their long lost granddaughter.'

Jess' eyebrows furrowed. _Long lost. Miraculously found. Grand Duchess of Russia fashion._

'Any idea where I can find her?' he narrowed his eyes and looked to the side.

_There_, Dean thought. Disappointment. Apprehension._ Of course they were there somewhere._

'Her grandparents live in Hartford. High class. Ask for the Gilmore Mansion.'

Jess nodded briefly and after a short beat started for the car.

'Jess...' Dean's voice carried behind.

Jess turned.

'She...' Dean rubbed the back of his neck. '... she's different now,' he finished carefully.

A beat.

'Yeah.' Jess gave another short nod and opened the car. 'Thanks, Dean.'

Dean's eyes followed the car as it pulled out of the gas station and disappeared into dust down Jones Hill Road.

* * *

**II**_**  
**_

_**1927, Hartford, Connecticut**_

_**The Gilmore Mansion  
**_

IT WAS ONE OF THOSE PARTIES when music is loud (_the Charleston_, the hymn of the decade), boys were impatient to have fun and girls - to find a rich husband, but they had nothing to actually say to each other. And they filled conversation gaps with dances and alcohol.

Rory Gilmore (after her grandparents took her from _Ashton_, almost seven years ago, they attached a family name to her, because, as her grandmother said, she had family now) was staring out of the french windows. Her slender fingers were closed around the neck of another empty glass.

Then she saw _him_. For the first time, after _all_ these years, she _saw _him again, and her heart stopped.

He was _there_, right in front of her.

The boy who always kept a smirk at the corner of his mouth and a shrug by the side of his shoulder. The boy who enjoyed reading even more than she did. The boy who argued about _Dickens_ as fervently as he denied having read _Austen_'s full collection two times in a row. The boy who let her lead him on to one of _Ashton_'s attics one rainy afternoon and stared at her wide-eyed as she started slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

She remembered how still she was and how _he_ shivered, how his hands trembled against her bare waist. She remembered the look in his eyes as he opened them afterwards. The way he bit the inside of his lip when they looked at the smudged blood stain over his worn shirt they had used as bedding.

_'Why me?' _

_'What do you mean, why you?' _

_'What did you see in me?' _

_'Everything.'_

One quiet May afternoon, up on the hill, she told him she feared turning eighteen.

_'Why?' _

_'Where are we gonna go from here? We've got nowhere to go to. No one waiting.' _

_'You've got me.' _

_'So I'll always be coming back to you?' _

_'Yeah. Something like that.'_

Then she told him that story she had once read and imagined she had a grandmother who would read it to her goodnight. There were all those boys and girls up in Heaven who weren't born here on Earth yet, and were waiting to be descended. And each of them was given one wing, attached to the side of their backs, so, when they came here on Earth, each of them came with one wing only. So that no one would be able to fly alone, she finished. 'I will kiss you now,' he whispered.

She also remembered her hand over the cold window when they took him away. The way she ran after the car until she was out of breath and her lungs started to hurt more than her heart.

_'I don't wanna fly alone, Jess.' _

_'You won't.' _

_'I can't fly without you.' _

_'You won't have to. I'll come back for you, I promise.' _

_'No...' _

_'Rory. I promise.'_

All of this, she remembered at once. It was not so much of a cascade of memories, than it was a surge, a wave that splashed over her and swallowed her whole. It was like adding a missing part in a puzzle, a lock inside her clicked and the world started to make sense again.

Then she heard someone say 'How much did she have?' 'I... I don't know. Oh my god, she... she never got so bad... please, _please_ help her, doctor.'

She woke up the next day in a white room with big windows that had no curtains. When, later, a woman entered the room, carrying a small plastic cup and a bigger one, full of water, Rory asked where she was. The woman answered this was a hospital room and there were some pills that would make her feel better.

* * *

It was a lot easier now that they were grown-ups, Rory thought.

When you were a kid and your parents were not around, everyone kept asking, _'Poor thing, dear, where are your parents, sweetheart?'._

When you were a grown up, no one asked about your parents anymore.

She liked to think that people were some kind of story characters. And what else could they be, when story characters were based on real people themselves...

She thought that it would be funny if people's noses grew longer when they lied.

She imagined the length of people's noses according to the amount of untruths they said on her grandmother's parties. Emily's nose would be a really long one (_'Isn't Jeremy _such _a lovely decent young fellow, dear? His father owns the biggest East Coast Petrol Fund and he really seems to like you...'_). And then, nurse Eleanor's nose would quite impress, too. _'These pills will make you feel better, dear child.'_

These pills would make her feel better. When they didn't, they would just change them for some other pills. Also _intended_ to make her feel better. _You'll feel better, sweetheart. _How could this be true, when she knew there wasn't _anything_ that could make her feel better? Well, maybe there _was_ this one thing. But it was just a temporary mend, wasn't it?

She started seeking under her mattress.

* * *

**III**

JESS LEANED BACK AGAINST the trunk of an old oak tree and lit a smoke. He watched as more cars steered into the driveway that led to the mansion.

The _Gilmore Mansion_ was a building, designed to impress. Three floors, four wings, countless rooms. The duly fountain with a naked statue in front. A small pond about half a mile away.

A soft gust of wind passed through the trees and he remembered another time, a time when he was sitting under a dusk sky and the leaves were whispering her name as breeze carried it down the hill and along the shore, accompanied by the distant lullaby of waves crashing against the cliffs.

His lips quivered. He took a deep last drag before he crushed the fag against the bark.

* * *

'You've dressed up,' she lifted her eyebrows, amused.

Jess held a breath as he uttered the two syllables.

'Rory.'

For seven years, it was the first time he pronounced her name to actually address her. He'd been afraid he forgot how to. He hadn't.

'Yeah,' she smiled sheepishly, her eyes half shut.

They were in a study that overlooked the garden. In another part of the mansion, her grandfather was holding a 'business party' and Jess managed to sneak into the inner part unnoticed.

He stepped closer and swallowed. She was sitting in a big baroque armchair, feet tucked under her, a feather-light chiffon dress forming a puffy black cloud, pooling around in heaps.

Bare feet. Bare shoulders. Her outlines almost palpable in the twilight. Distant echo of music in the background. A half open window behind her. He could _feel_ her in the air and it made his skin tingle.

His voice was hard to come, and when it did, it was dry.

'Hey.'

Her brows furrowed beautifully. For some unknown reason, he imagined a dark caped figure sneak through the open french window behind her and grab her. The arch-villain taking the damsel away.

He took a step closer. He wouldn't let her disappear this time.

'You remember me?' he tried. She couldn't have forgotten him... or could she?

Her smile grew wider. There was something wrong about her smile. He couldn't pinpoint what.

'Of course I remember you, _this_ is the only way I remember you.'

He considered the structure of her last sentence rather strange, but ignored it, saving his questions for a more proper time.

'There something wrong?'

'No, it's just...' he blinked in concentration and then let out a nervous chuckle. 'You don't seem surprised, I guess.'

'That's because I'm not, silly.'

He stayed rooted to the spot. Her cheeks had the slightest tinge of rose and she reminded him of one of those porcelain dolls with a constant glassy glow in their eyes.

'I knew I would see you,' she giggled. 'I _wanted_ to see you,' she whispered conspiratorially and then giggled again.

_She's different now._ Dean was always sure, wasn't he?

'Rory, you're drunk.'

'Of course I am, that's the only way I can still see you.'

There it was, the dark caped figure. Jess tried to swallow a giant lump in his throat.

'You're not real...' she sighed with a distant smile. 'I love you anyway. You're all I have left of him.'

She paused and then averted her eyes.

'The worst part comes when I wake up and I don't see you there. I have to lose him each time I wake up. Over and over again.'

Blue went deep under her lashes. And then, suddenly, she shook the mood off and was smiling again.

'But let's not talk about sad things now. Sadness makes me so blue. Come here.'

He obeyed in semi-trance. His steps were heavy. Muffled thuds against soft carpet. He stopped right before her.

'Come closer. I wanna feel you.'

She reached for him and started unbuttoning his vest. Tucked his shirt out, undid the upper buttons, slid one palm under the white cotton and laid it flat over his chest.

Jess' breath caught in his throat.

'Your heart beats so fast,' she whispered, closing her eyes. 'So fast, like a bird's heart.'

She smiled, her eyes still closed. She slid a second hand under the shirt and his mouth started to feel sticky.

'Come here,' she encircled his waist and pulled him still closer. He made a reluctant step forward and froze as he felt her lips over his abs. She kissed once. Twice. Then pressed her cheek to his stomach, stroking the skin along his waistband with her thumbs.

'You're safe with me, scared bird,' she said soothingly. 'Don't fly away. I miss you each time you fly away. God, I miss you so damn _much_.'

Jess looked down at her numbly for a long moment before he stepped back. He knelt down in her feet and buried his face in her lap.

'It's okay,' her fingers curled up in his hair. 'It's okay,' she repeated and stroked his head.

Chiffon balled into his fists, but he let her smooth his hair.

'Jess... look at me.'

He lifted his head. His eyes were steady, but his voice box was moving. Up and down, telling what he'd never say out loud. But his eyes were steady.

Rory sunk into soft brown and suddenly she was seventeen again and they were up on the hill and the wind was grazing their faces.

* * *

**_~Seven Years Ago~_**

'What are we gonna do?'

'I'll think of something, okay? Just don't do anything until I've figured it out.'

'Jess... what if they take me?'

'They won't.'

'And if they do?'

'They won't. Rory. Look at me. They won't.'

'We don't have time. I think I got an idea.'

###

'Who is responsible for this?' Mrs Daughtry's voice split the silence that hung above two rows of boys and girls, standing tall in _Ashton_'s Dining Hall.

'Do you realize what could've happened? Someone could've _died_ in that car...' she trailed off, pausing to take a breath and steady her voice. 'God knows I have been patient with you, but this, _this_' she shook her head, 'is _beyond_ any limits.'

'Mrs Daughtry, if you let me...' the policeman cut in, touching her shoulder. 'My name is Sergeant Stevens,' he introduced himself in a low, composed tone. Real pro.

'Kids,' he addressed the two rows of _Ashton_ scholars, giving them a long scrutinizing look.

'I know that, whoever did this,' he made an indefinite gesture towards them, 'didn't mean any harm. _But,_' he shook his head, 'there is this thing in life, when you do something, you have to stand up for what you did.'

And then, suddenly, his voice took on a spiteful vibe and his cold blue eyes were crossed by a quick spark. Now he looked like one of those people who understood justice as some form of revenge and got _excited_ in its pursuit. A _huntsman_.

'We're gonna find out who did it,' he smiled humorlessly, his steel blue eyes inspecting the kids closely, 'One way or another. It's in your best interest to tell us by your own will.'

'I did it,' Jess stepped forward, his face terribly pale.

'What?' Rory jumped in her place and stepped forward, too. 'That's a lie, I did it. I did it, so I wouldn't be taken by the foster family. I didn't mean to blow up the car, I swear, I just...'

'That's fuckin' nonsense.' Jess cut in, the look in his eyes blatant.

'Jess...' Rory looked back at him pointedly. _Don't do this_, her eyes said.

'I did it, everyone will confirm.'

'He _didn't_!' Rory's voice was desperate. 'He didn't, he even tried to _stop_ me, but I was so stupid, I wanted to make sure that they wouldn't make me go, that they wouldn't want me to... Don't you see, he's only saying this so that he can pro...'

'_Enough_, Rory,' Mrs Daughtry raised a hand to stop her rambling. 'Mr Mariano, follow me and Sergeant Stevens.'

###

'You have to take care of her now.'

Dean's hands were sweaty and he wiped them into his jeans.

'Jess...'

Jess took Dean by the shoulders and turned him towards himself, something between a warning shake and a gesture of trust.

'One day, I'll come back for her, but until then, it's you and her.'

'What's gonna happen to you?'

Dean was scared. He couldn't figure out how Jess wasn't.

'I'm gonna stand a trial and most probably be sent to spend some time in a Juvenile Delinquent.'

'Jess...' Dean shook his head, refusing to believe.

'She has no one else now, Dean. You're all she's got.'

'O... okay.'

* * *

_**1927, Hartford, Connecticut**_

_**The Gilmore Mansion**_

Blue streamed in transparent salty streaks down her cheeks.

She watched him numbly, faint smile frozen over bitten lips, drops rolling steadily down as a vein becomes visible across her forehead. Her palm was still lightly touching his cheek, her head slightly bent to the side.

Beats passed. Seconds. Minutes. How many, neither could tell.

Then streams turned into thin wet streaks over milky skin and she was touching his face with only her fingertips.

Cheekbones, jawline, nose. Forehead. Eyelids. Lips. She was checking if he was real.

Then she moved back and swallowed. Allowed herself to blink. And slapped him, right across the face. Hard.

He winced, but didn't move.

'What took you so long?' she asked shakily.

_I'll come back for you, I promise._

Jess swallowed and looked down. He was gonna take it all. He had deserved it, hadn't he?

A beat passed and they both stood in silence.

'It hurt?' she breathed in.

He met her gaze openly in silent confirm. She licked a lip.

'Good,' she nodded and reached for his cheek. He leaned into her touch.

'Never leave me again.'

She woke up this morning and he was there. _He_ was _here_. She only prayed he'd be here to stay this time.

* * *

The Roaring Twenties.

A new age. A generation, marked by regrets. Stained with an incessant rush. Live more. Breathe less.

Girls, there's no time, you may become widows before you've had time to be anybody's wives. Boys, those lovely ladies won't be sitting around being young forever, you're heroes in the making, you don't even need your guns to prove it...

The Twenties _roared_. Crying out for attention. Screaming for life. Loud. So loud, it was deafening.

* * *

**I****V**

HE KNOCKED ON the door frame. No answer.

Downstairs, her grandmother was giving a party and music carried as he slowly pushed the door open.

'Ror?' he stepped into her room reluctantly, eyes searching. 'You here?'

When he saw her, she was sprawled onto the floor next to the huge bed. She looked small. Minimalistically, childishly small. Hugging her knees, she was shaking.

At first he thought she was crying. She wasn't.

She was shivering. Her teeth chattered. But she was not crying.

'Hey. Ror...' he knelt down next to her, trying to catch a glimpse of her eyes.

When he did, her pupils were wide. She was sweating and when he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, it was cold.

He drew an inch back. He knew what this was. She wasn't upset. Nor feverish. She was abstinent.

'Come on, let's warm you up,' he clicked into gear a moment later as he took his coat off and put it around her.

He reached up behind her shoulder and dragged the bed cover off to put around her, too.

'I'll get you some water,' he rose, looking around.

Rory looked up at him, eyes wide, lips pressed white.

_ Where were you?_

Jess paused for a second. The look in her eyes was transfixed, a trace of insanity crossing dull blue.

...

Next time she opened her eyes, she was clutching onto his sleeves.

He had wrapped the bed cover around them both now, trying to conduct some of his own body warmth to her. His shirt was damp with her cold sweat. Her eyes fluttered shut again.

...

'Rory...'

She shifted.

'You have to drink some water.'

She shook her head.

'Come on, Ror. I'm here.'

She started sobbing.

'I'm here. I'm not going anywhere... I'm here.'

_I'm here, I'm here, I'm here_, he repeated like mantra and the words ricocheted in her head, trying to chase the past seven years away.

...

She woke up and the room was bright. She had no idea of time and day.

She blinked and squinted into the sunlight.

Then she sat up and looked around anxiously, remembering he had been there last time she woke.

Had she dreamed that, too?

She closed her eyes and opened them again. Nothing.

Something caught her eye. A shirt over the desk chair's back.

Slowly, she climbed off the bed and made a few steps.

Cotton met her fingertips, slightly grazing the skin, swallowing her doubt. She closed her eyes.

Water was running in the bathroom.

When she stumbled in, Jess straightened up, squeezing the towel in both hands.

She paused at the door, taking in the sight of a bare chested man in her bathroom. His trouser braces hung loose by his sides and he was holding a dry towel in his hands. His stubble was still damp and there were miniature water drops edging at the ends of his lashes.

She didn't know this man.

She knew a boy, up in an attic, a boy who used to intimidate his peers but seemed to tremble at her girlish touch.

Logic said this boy had grown into that man.

Rory looked down and then to the side.

'Leave.'

He didn't move.

'Go. Away.'

Suddenly her voice was full of spite. He couldn't figure it out.

'Rory, what's going on?'

'I want you to leave,' she delivered coldly.

'Rory...'

'Just get the fuck _out_, okay?' she burst, glaring up at him.

He remained completely calm.

'Not before you answer me. What's going on?'

Her face was dangerously pale. Her lower lip quivered.

'When are you leaving?'

Jess' eyebrows furrowed.

'I'm not,' he answersed simply.

They looked at each other in silent battle until her feet started shaking and she lost ground.

'I don't...' she breathed but trailed off.

She meant to tell him she didn't believe a word he said, she didn't want, didn't _need_ him here, didn't remember, didn't _feel_ anything about him anymore. But she couldn't finish the sentence. She stumbled, her feet failing her.

He caught her thin form and carried her back into the room.

When he put her onto the bed and leaned over her, she opened her eyes and her look was blank.

'You don't exist,' she whispered sadly and the room started spinning.

_A broken illusion, a trick of the mind. You're an unfinished book. An unsung song, you keep echoing in my mind, but the final notes are never there. Never were._

'I miss you every time I wake up,' she blinked and a plump teardrop rolled down her cheek.

Jess brushed it off with his thumb.

'It's real, Ror.'

'Stop it,' she hissed and pushed his hand away ardently.

He smiled bitterly and looked at his hand before he rested it on the bed next to his thigh.

'I missed you too, you know?' he admitted quietly.

'No,' she shook her head violently and sat up in the bed, her eyes going wild again.

'Stop this,' she breathed out and the room started spinning faster. 'I have to keep some sanity, don't you understand? You have to leave. Please. Leave now, before it's too late.'

'Rory, what are you talking about?'

She laughed humorlessly.

'You're talking in my head, Jess. I don't know what's real anymore,' her voice was trembling with every word.

'You know what's real,' he insisted. '_This_ is real. I'm real. We're real.'

'Oh yeah?' she looked at him accusingly.

'Then, would you please tell me where, _where_ have you been for the last seven years, Jess? How come you decide to appear just _now_? Or maybe you can explain to me, where the hell _is everybody_? Why are we alone in my bedroom, why hasn't any of the maids come to serve me breakfast, why hasn't disgusting nurse Eleanor come to feed me her magical pills, or where, where _is_ Emily?'

Words came out fast, almost two at a time.

'She's my grandmother, you know?' she continued exasperatedly, 'She must've been here a _hundred_ times by now, asking me if I'm feeling better, encouraging me to dress nicely and meet somebody's loaded son and marry him and then give birth to a million loaded snobby children. Or why, _why_ hasn't anybody noticed that there is a half naked _man_ in my room? You can't _imagine_ the way voices carry in this damned house...'

She stopped her tirade to take in a choked breath.

'It's been only a day, Rory,' he said evenly and sighed defeated, turning to rest his elbows over his knees. 'Only one fucking day,' he put his head into his hands.

He didn't know what to do. How do you prove you exist? He couldn't get rid of that stupid image, the one of the thin black caped man with handlebar mustache and a top hat, the villain who took the girl away. How did he keep the girl? After seven years, how did he even _know_ the girl?

That's ridiculous, he nudged himself. He knew her. And she knew _him_. She knew, knew, _knew _him, no matter how messed up she was right now. Rory and Jess. Jess and Rory. That's all it took. There was a time when that was all it used to take...

Rory was staring at his back, suddenly lost for words. She reached one hand forward and touched his skin - with only her fingertips, as if he was going to dissolve into thin air if she pressed any harder.

'You...' she swallowed, unable to finish.

Her eyes went blurry.

He had a tattoo, covering the whole right half of his back. A wing.

_So that no one will be able to fly alone._

Jess realized what she saw and turned to face her. Their eyes met in silent surprise. Silent apology.

_I'm sorry I made you wait for so long._

_I'm sorry I told you to go away._

There was a knock on the door.

'Miss Gilmore...' a woman's voice said, 'It's Tanya, are you awake? Miss Gilmore... Lunch is served.'

Suddenly Rory was laughing. And it was a good-natured, hearty laughter. One that made him smile back.

She reached for him and her hands closed behind his neck. He held her tight. So tight she couldn't take deep breaths. Right now, she didn't want to, anyhow. She only wanted this to be real.

* * *

**V**

'TRY THIS ONE,' she sat up in the grass.

'My heart's like an old house, abandoned years ago. It has no people left in it. Only a bunch of ghosts haunting the attics.'

He quirked an eyebrow in mock appreciation.

'Broody,' he smirked.

They were sitting in one of the gardens. This morning she had faked an excuse to miss breakfast and hurried to meet him by one of the west walls.

'Come on, your turn,' she bumped her shoulder in his and then lay back on her elbows.

He lay down in the grass and crossed both hands under his head.

'When they tell you not to do something,' he started, 'it's very important that, when you do it, you do it right. Echoes of what we didn't do are scaring one's mind away.'

Rory stared at him bluntly before she blinked again.

'It's not fair,' she dismissed, 'yours isn't lame enough.'

They had that game. They used to play it back in _Ashton_. They would start thinking of pseudo-wise memorable remarks, pretending they were one of those worldwide-famous politicians, poets, artists or whatsoever. Whoever made a wittier lame remark, won. It was cynical, they realized, but they had made it a habit of theirs and it wss way too much fun to abandon.

'Sure it is lame enough.'

'No,' she shook her head. 'It isn't. It _applies_.'

Their eyes met in silent battle, and, like many other times, she won.

'Okay, then,' he let an exaggerated sigh and lifted to rest on his elbows, too. 'Try this one,' he narrowed his eyes, processing his next words. 'They paint Death like a woman. He sees Death with her face. His Death has her face. Every damn _woman_ he meets has her face. And he knows he's well ready to die, eyes wide open.'

Rory smiled contently and lifted her chin, squinting in the sun.

'Could do,' she said lazily, knowing she was only teasing him. 'Creep,' she let a smirk of her own pull at the corners of her mouth.

Jess didn't object. A witty reply hung at the tip of his tongue, but he said nothing. He was staring at her profile, instead. Utterly silent, watching as her hair reflected the sun.

* * *

It was late afternoon and they were back in the house. She had led him on to the study where he had found her, two weeks ago.

'When are you gonna tell me about that lawyer thing?' Rory asked absentmindedly, flipping another page of her book.

Jess put another book back into its place on the massive bookshelf and gave her a sideways glance. She was sitting in that favorite armchair of hers, pretending to be caught up in her book ever since they came back into the house.

'Nothing much to tell,' he answered vaguely and there was only the sound of another page turning.

He was a lawyer now. It was what he did for a living. What else was there to tell?

'You had other women, Jess?'

His eyebrows quirked up. She had left the book on the coffee table and was facing him now.

'Excuse me?'

'You made them sweat and lose their breath under you while you brought their wrists up above their heads?' she said directly to his face, without even wincing. So, she was in one of _those_ moods.

Jess' eyes met hers and crystal blue stabbed with a million pins and needles.

_Can't you see? I don't know you anymore. You won't talk to me. I wanna know about you, why won't you talk to me?_

'It's fine,' she shrugged. 'It doesn't matter anyway,' she lied and faced away.

She stared ahead for a while, but then stood up abruptly and jerked her head to the side.

'Why don't you tell me you'd never replace me, that each second you breathed, you missed sharing your breath with mine, that what we had, you can't ever have with anyone, _anyone _at all... that I _fit_ you, I fit you in a way no one does... That...' she took a breath and let it out quicjky, 'That I know you - even though you always keep things from me, I still know you... _Why_ aren't you telling me all this?'

Jess was staring at her wordlessly.

'I hate you,' she hissed and trembled under the weight of her own words.

'You don't,' he shook his head and stepped closer.

'I hate you!' she cried out in a strangled voice, struggling with his arms as he put them around, pulling her into an embrace.

'You love me,' he whispered, his breath brushing her ear. 'You love me, you love me, you love me,' he repeated soothingly, as she stopped fighting him.

She gasped for air and met him midway.

She drank him in thirstily. Kissing him was not a matter of pleasure right now, it was pure necessity.

And there they were, back in an old attic, she was unbuttoning his shirt and air almost smelled like wet wood.

The muscles of his stomach tightened involuntarily as her thumbs trailed the skin under his waistband.

Without letting go of her face, he staggered backwards until his back hit the massive desk. Dress brushed up above her knees, he climbed her on his waist.

Her breath caught in her throat. Both of them stilled.

'You okay?' he asked hoarsely.

She gave him a short nod, biting her lip. Thoughts of where they were and the possibility of someone peering through the window were completely forgotten. Her heart was pounding wildly. Her ears buzzed and she knew her cheeks were burning. But she was okay.

He offered her a small smile as he lifted her hand to kiss the inside of her palm.

_You love me. You love me, you love me, you love me._

She felt a sudden shift within her chest, a burning need to cry, cry out loud, like a little girl, and she sought for something to hold on to.

When she gripped at his shoulders and moved further onto him, his head fell and his eyes rolled back.

'Open your eyes,' she breathed out into his neck and his eyes opened.

_Stay with me_, her eyes pleaded.

He moved into her and the dusky room moved, too. She gasped for air. He caught her lips and kissed her fully, swallowing her moans. His eyes stayed locked with hers.

_I'm not going anywhere._

Right at this moment, there was no one but them. Jess and Rory. Rory and Jess. No one else. _Nothing_ else. The world washed away with each brush of his tongue as seven years drowned in the blue of her eyes.

* * *

'Where were you?'

Her head was resting over his shoulder and his thumb was absentmindedly tracing gentle lines under her left breast.

'Huh?'

She looked up at him pointedly and his features tensed into stubborn silence. He was not telling her.

She shifted to sit up in the bed, dragging some of the sheet up with herself.

'I waited for you, you know?' she asked in a distant, bristly voice.

'When my grandparents showed at _Ashton_, I...' she narrowed her eyes, looking for a word, 'I freaked, I was about to start dropping bread crumbles along the way from the backseat of the car.'

But she didn't, she remembered. She simply watched idly as _Ashton_ was left further behind, the silly image of _her_ crumbling along the way passing through her mind.

She winced and Jess watched adamantly. He didn't speak. He didn't move. She wasn't sure if he was actually breathing.

'I hate it when you won't speak,' she stated sadly and looked away.

He blinked. Once. Twice. Not a word still. He was not telling her.

He watched as her eyes clouded. He hated that her eyes would cloud like that. There, silence clouded up into her eyes, scaring forgiveness away, and blue got colder. He was not telling her, though. There was no way in hell he was telling her. _Ever_.

It wasn't his fault, though. He wanted her to somehow know that much. But if she did, she'd never forgive herself. He knew better.

* * *

_**~Seven Years Ago~**_

'All rise,' the judge began after taking his place behind the tribune.

'Mr Mariano,' he turned towards Jess, his pale blue eyes aiming directly at Jess', 'the jury has found you guilty of deliberate arson.

'The court has come to the decision that you will see the inside of a prison for six months, counted from today on...'

Jess' mind was blurred, the word _prison_ playing over and over on the background, accompanied by his layer's _'Objection, Your Honor, he's only turned eighteen during the trial, he should be attending a Juvenile Delinquent and not...'_

Back then, he didn't know that six months would turn into eighteen, once he tried to escape and was caught mid-run on his way.

_'I have to go back! I promised...'_

It was an _October 8th_. It was raining and he got all soaked, salty streaks joining cold raindrops down his face. He had to be sweating, he thought, or that would be the goddamn first time in his life he'd be crying.

* * *

It wasn't her fault either, he thought.

He had spent an year and a half there. That's where he got the tattoo. His roommate was a forger (_'You dunno shit, bro, I'm an artist, ya know? One day I'll repaint the Sixteenth Chapel all over.'_).

At the end of his first year, he got into a fight with a new inmate and he got stabbed in the back. (_'Shit, bro, your wing is bleeding.'_)

It wasn't her fault. But she'd blame it on herself, he knew. And he didn't think she''d ever truly forgive herself. So, there was no way in hell he was telling her.

* * *

_**~Seven Years Ago~**_

'Roots,' she said strangely, while running her hand down the bark of an old oak tree in Ashton's backyard.

'Huh?'

'It's good to have roots,' she explained calmly.

'Oh.'

'You and me,' she said then, looking up at him, 'we never had roots.'

Jess' eyebrows rose.

Rory offered him a shy grin before sliding her hand over to his and entwining their fingers.

'We do now.'

He stood still, staring at their intertwined fingers.

* * *

'Rory.'

She kept staring at the side table, standing perfectly still.

Jess let a breath out through his nose and stepped closer.

'You know,' she said in semi-trance, 'I just like that this Rory feels so _imperfect_, compared to the one before.'

His eyes moved from her profile to the bottle on the side table.

'The more I tried to look perfect for them, the more rotten I felt inside. A ragged Rory just feels so... true.'

'That's bullshit, Ror,' he huffed. 'This...' he made an indefinite gesture with his hand towards the table. '_This_ isn't you.'

She lifted her eyes to meet his. There was a broken glitter in her blue, only a hint of naivety dulled by the shadow of self doubt.

'I tried to be me without you. I failed.'

She hadn't given up on him, he realized. She'd given up on herself.

'Can you walk?' he looked at her.

She looked back, bemused by his sudden determination.

'I think so.'

'Come on, we have to go some place.'

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

BACK TO WHERE it all began. Back to the place where all winds changed direction.

The old stone wall was covered in ivy, the engraved letters almost lost beneath. The yard was overgrown, the path sleeping under rustling knee-high grass. No one lived here anymore. The building had been taken by the state a few years ago, intended to be turned into a golf center. The plans lay unfinished for a year before the government labeled the project frozen.

_Ashton._ A sleeping giant, a grumpy old man left by his family, his face somehow sombre and stubbly, yet familiar now, after all those years, bringing up memories of a previous life.

Jess looked around and breathed the past in. Was he too late? He would spend the rest of his life trying to prove he wasn't, _wasn't_ too late.

He turned to look at her. Sun was setting down behind the hill and he caught a glimpse of light, reflected in her eyes. There was still light in her eyes.

'Jess... I feel a bit weak.'

'Just hold on to me then,' he said and took a firmer grip round her arm, supporting her. 'We're gonna be okay.'

They started walking towards the hill.

* * *

**_The End_**

* * *

_Thanks for reading:)_


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